A heavy stone skimming across a mill-pond.
The sound of half a duck quacking.

Tuesday, December 04, 2012

Procrastination

Waiting for enough time to pile up
Like folds of cream
A crashing wave, sucking with eager lips
At the sands of plans
Till in the tumble of scattered seconds
Who hide their preciousness
Like breath smuggled underwater
Realization dawns in my warming chest
At once urgent and diffuse
An alarming wail,
Spilling through a thousand alleyways
Birthed by the kiss of a brick
On a single glassy pane.